


This is Rodney's Brain on Want

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-03
Updated: 2008-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost 10.30 in the morning when they tumble into bed, but they've been awake and fending off certain doom since just after 1am, so they're allowed, Rodney thinks, "we're allowed," he mumbles, stripping off his grease-stained shirt and pants, fighting with his socks before he drops onto the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Rodney's Brain on Want

It's almost 10.30 in the morning when they tumble into bed, but they've been awake and fending off certain doom since just after 1am, so they're allowed, Rodney thinks, "we're allowed," he mumbles, stripping off his grease-stained shirt and pants, fighting with his socks before he drops onto the bed. John's already there – stripping is one of his grossly unfair ninja skills and there are some things it pays to be efficient at, Rodney thinks, but stripping isn't necessarily one of them, not if you're the kind of person (Sheppard) to be blessed with firm abs and nicely-shaped arms, but hey, he thinks, look at that, skin, lots of skin, all spread out all over his bed, and okay, the pros and cons of stripping can wait for another time. "Mmmmmm," he sighs appreciatively and spoons up against John's back instead of considering the vagaries of almost-prostitution; "Mmmmmm," and he inhales the scent of sweat and cordite and ocean and butterscotch pudding, and resolves that it's the salt he finds most attractive, he's not getting turned on by pudding smells, no he's not, not at all, but he _is_ getting turned on by something because, hello, he has a very nice erection, and John's ass is right there for the rubbing and the taking and the touching and the –

"Roooodneeeeey," John whines.

"What?"

"You gotta be _kidding_ ," John elaborates, grinding back against him, and well, how is that supposed to convince him _not_ want to continue this thrusting, rubbing thing he started? It's not, that's how, it's not at all, and so he kisses John's neck and nibbles just below his hair line and slides a hand over John's hip, around to his belly, scratching his nails through the hair that grows below John's navel, getting a hiss as a response.

"Mmmhmm," Rodney hums smugly, cock throbbing in his shorts, and he licks over the top of John's spine, sucks right over a vertebrae, and John shivers, head to toe, which is how Rodney decides it's time to reach into John's boxers, wrap a hand around his cock, smear pre-come around and get to jerking John off. It's very satisfying, being the bringer of orgasms around these parts, making John Sheppard squirm and pant and shudder, and it tends to make for orgasms that Rodney himself can feel behind his eyelids for several hours afterwards, so for everyone it's a win-win-win. And once John starts swearing, starts fucking Rodney's hand, reaches round and grabs at Rodney's hips, holds him close and starts insulting him – "That the best you've got? _C'mon_ , McKay," well, that's when Rodney knows he's an absolute genius, because moments later, John's spilling over his fingers, wet and sticky, and his shaking apart with only Rodney to keep him together, and Rodney's thrusting hard against him and coming too, and wow, wow, wow, god, orgasms _rule_.

And since the whole thing was his idea – genius! Demonstrably! – Rodney's the one who peels them out of their underwear and mops them up and steals a moment to kiss John's mouth while they're both still dazed and sweaty and have no idea who they are. Then he climbs back into bed and hip-checks John for most of the mattress and doesn't complain at all when John flops over, lies practically on top of him, gives him stubble burn from rubbing one cheek against his wide, pale shoulder, and drops off to sleep like someone flipped off the lights. Which is – lights, yes, lights should be off, and Rodney thinks it so and rubs his foot against John's and thinks random, happy thoughts of comic books and butterscotch pudding and then between one thought and the next he . . .


End file.
